


Divine Ecstasy

by waterofthemoon



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Depraved Holiday Exchange, First Time, Historical Inaccuracy, Jealousy, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Making Love, One Shot, Pining, Queer Guardian Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:54:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21882883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/pseuds/waterofthemoon
Summary: Aziraphale finds pleasure in blessing humans with his body. Crowley doesn't know how to deal with that, until he does.
Relationships: Aziraphale (Good Omens)/Original Male Character(s), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 130
Collections: Oh Come All Ye Sinful! A Depraved Holiday Exchange 2019





	Divine Ecstasy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_la_grecque](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_la_grecque/gifts).

> Written for the prompt "Aziraphale is way too into doing the more... fleshly temptations, and Crowley doesn't know how to react to that." This happens to be an Aziraphale headcanon I can easily get behind (heh), and this gave me an excuse to write a whole fic about it, so I had so much fun writing this and doing this exchange! Thanks to everyone involved for being so kind and supportive, especially in the Ineffable Temptations server, and my love, as always, to chat. ♥

The first time Crowley witnesses it, they're in the middle of the desert, and Aziraphale is emerging from the tent of a seemingly unimportant but strategically vital young soldier. His skin is flushed, and he's very obviously adjusting the fall of his robes, but it still takes Crowley a minute to process what he's seeing.

"Did you—with _him_?" Crowley says in an undertone once he's pulled Aziraphale away, jerking a thumb back towards the tent.

Aziraphale blinks. "Certainly," he says. "I had orders, and it was all going wrong—and I thought, well, there are other ways to hand out divine ecstasy. He's going to do great things for our side now."

A smile crosses his face, then, soft and well-pleased. It infuriates Crowley in ways he's not willing to examine just at present. "And he was very sweet," Aziraphale adds in an almost wistful tone.

"Do this often, then?" Crowley asks. It comes out in more of a snarl than he intends.

"I wouldn't say often, no," Aziraphale says. He's still being maddeningly calm about the whole thing. "If the situation calls for it, certainly."

"If the _situation_—" Crowley runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "I thought your side frowned on mating with humans these days."

Aziraphale scoffs. "That young man is hardly going to bear children from our union. And, not that it's any of your business, but I haven't had any complaints. From Upstairs _or_ my partners."

"I didn't ask, but thanks," Crowley says in the most scathing tone he can manage, which isn't very.

Aziraphale just tilts his head. "Look, don't you do the same? Demonic temptations and all? I thought the whole thing about the sins of the flesh was your side's doing."

"Sure," Crowley says. "I mean, that's the party line, yeah. I don't get personally involved." He grins, baring his teeth—he still doesn't feel like being nice to Aziraphale. "Much better to convince them to screw each other, and then I get off scot free and don't have any jealous lovers after my hide."

"Hmmm," Aziraphale says. He doesn't seem to move at all, but his body is now angled in a way that provokes Crowley all over again. "So you've never...."

"Never," Crowley says. Not with a partner, anyway, which is what Aziraphale means. "A bit loud and squishy, I always thought."

Aziraphale's eyes are on him, then. Sizing him up? Crowley feels wrong-footed, suddenly. "That's a pity," Aziraphale says at last. "You might enjoy it more than you think. Excuse me, I have other duties to attend to."

He walks away, and Crowley doesn't mean to, but his eyes catch and hold on Aziraphale's swaying behind all the way across the encampment.

*

The next time, they're in Rome, at a party. Or, maybe party is a loose term—it's an orgy, or at least has all the makings of one, even if the clothes haven't come off yet.

Crowley is ostensibly there for a temptation, but he actually followed Aziraphale's angelic energy. He finds Aziraphale reclined on a sofa, eating grapes and chatting up a very attractive man while another man sits beside him, his hand resting high and covetous on the angel's thigh.

Both men have dark hair, Crowley notes without meaning to. A sudden burst of possessive energy overtakes him, and he has to take a deep breath to keep it from flooding his corporation. He wants to inform the men exactly who it is they're flirting with. He wants to grip Aziraphale by the arm and drag him away from the maybe-orgy. He wants—he just _wants_.

Instead of interrupting, he keeps well enough away in the shadows and watches Aziraphale work. Aziraphale must know he's nearby, just as easily as Crowley tracked him, but he doesn't want the humans to know.

Aziraphale, Crowley realizes as the evening progresses, is a natural flirt. He bats his eyelashes and flashes these coy smiles and allows the men to feed him grapes; he lets his toga fall open a little more and doesn't discourage either of them from touching him, even when wandering hands start sneaking under the fabric.

It's an act, to be sure, but one that's affecting Crowley just as much as the two men now practically in his lap. Scratch that, Crowley thinks, glancing around—half the _room_ is under Aziraphale's spell. If inspiring lust and envy was his game, job well fucking done.

One of the men murmurs something in Aziraphale's ear, and Crowley watches helplessly as Aziraphale laughs and then catches his mouth in a kiss.

It's not like Crowley didn't know where this whole night was leading, but it still catches him off guard. It's one thing, he realizes, to stumble across his contemporary in the aftermath, and very much another to spy on his foreplay. Crowley feels like a voyeur, watching them press their mouths together with clear intent, but he can't seem to tear his eyes away.

Aziraphale turns and kisses the other man, then, while the first man sets lips and teeth to Aziraphale's neck. Fair's fair, Crowley supposes, feeling unaccountably murderous. The feeling only intensifies when Aziraphale lets out a little gasp and deepens the embrace, sliding his little pink tongue in while his throat is nibbled on.

The angel pulls away long enough to say something flirtatious in a low tone, gesturing minutely to the people around them, and his two companions grin and lead him off the couch. Or, no, Aziraphale is letting himself be led—and directly in Crowley's direction, too. He looks around in a panic for something to hide behind.

"One moment, countrymen, and then we'll be about our business," he hears Aziraphale call out. "An old acquaintance of mine is here tonight. Won't take long."

Then Aziraphale is in front of him, and Crowley still hasn't managed to leave or conceal himself. "What are you _doing_ here?" Aziraphale hisses.

"Er," Crowley says.

"Spying on me, are you?"

"Not—_exactly_," Crowley hedges. "On the subject, though, what are _you_ doing here? Not really the place one expects to find someone of your caliber."

Aziraphale squints, like he can't decide if that was a compliment or an insult. Honestly, Crowley could go either way. "I have an assignment," he says with venom. "I should think that was obvious."

"Getting a little temptation in, then," Crowley concludes, leaning against a column. Good invention, columns. Especially good for distracting him from remembering how Aziraphale looked when he kissed those men, and oh, now he wants to punch something again.

"Hardly," Aziraphale says, pompous. "Temptation is your side's doing. I'm leading them to the side of divine grace and mercy."

Crowley rolls his eyes. "And if that involves you bedding them both at once, that's just efficiency, right?"

"Yes, now you're—" Aziraphale stops. "Oh, I see what you're about, you old serpent. You can't trick _me_." He's fuming now, and unfortunately, it's a good look on him.

An unfamiliar male voice calls out, sickeningly cloying and very close by. Crowley realizes that he must be one of Aziraphale's companions. "Aloysius, are you nearly done? We're very eager to conclude our business."

"That's me," Aziraphale says in an undertone. "I better get on. _Don't_ follow me." In a louder voice, he says, "Yes, just leaving now!"

Crowley watches as Aziraphale rejoins the men without a backwards glance, presumably to find a private room where he can bring them to whatever heights of ecstasy he pleases. Without Crowley's intervention.

"I need a drink," Crowley mutters to himself, kicking the column.

*

Some time in the eleventh century, shortly after they've come to an agreement to work together as needs must, they get extremely drunk, and Aziraphale winds up explaining it to him. As a show of good faith, he says, although to Crowley, it feels more like torture.

"No, no no no," Aziraphale insists, gesturing with his half-full cup. "Y' don't understand. It's not _about_ the sex."

"What's it about, then?" Crowley is sitting on the floor next to Aziraphale's legs. He's not sure how he got there—something about the bench being too spinny.

"'S about _connection_." He sounds so fervent that Crowley looks up to see his too-bright eyes, his mouth parted slightly and gone slack with drink. "Tried to tell you the first time."

Crowley considers this. "Nah, you didn't," he says. "Meant to, maybe."

"I _help them_. Bit of—y'know, joy and peace. Blessing. All of that." Aziraphale frowns and then moves his cup to his other side so he can reach down to fumble for Crowley's hand. "C'mere, come back here. I want to tell you things."

Crowley, feeling a bit off guard, lets Aziraphale take his hand, but he sits back down immediately when he tries to lever himself up. "Come down here," he says. "Floor is better. Trust me."

"Shouldn't." Aziraphale slides off the bench and onto the floor next to Crowley, sloshing some of the wine out as he goes. Their fingers are still tangled together. "Y'r a demon. I do, though. Don't know why." His vision goes a bit unfocused as he contemplates this.

"Aziraphale." Crowley snaps his fingers in Aziraphale's face and tries very hard not to be offended.

"Right." Aziraphale downs his cup, grips Crowley's hand tighter, and says, "About the sex thing—"

Crowley tries to pull away, but between the state he's in and Aziraphale's surprisingly strong grip, he finds that he can't. "Not this again—"

"'M just surprised you haven't tried it," Aziraphale says. His breath is suddenly very, very close to Crowley's face, warm and smelling of alcohol. "'S great fun. Bet it'd be even better with—with the right person."

"Haven't found a human who does it for you, then?" Crowley says, more sardonically than he intends.

"No," Aziraphale says. "Not a one. Not looking at them, either."

He leans in, then, so close, too close, maybe. Crowley's mouth parts and his eyes flutter shut of their own accord before his brain manages to catch up, and he has just a moment to panic before—

Aziraphale turns away and lets out a belch, loud and indelicate. Crowley is impressed; he didn't even think angels could make noises like that.

He also feels slightly bereft, especially when Aziraphale pulls away from him and clutches at his head. "Ooh," Aziraphale moans. "Think I better—better sober up. 'M being silly anyway."

Crowley's drunk, too, and he can't make the words come out of his mouth. _Wait. Don't. Sit by me some more._ Even in his head, he can't articulate the things he wants. "Yeah, suppose we better," he says. "'S getting late anyway."

They do it at the same time, forcing the alcohol through their systems until they can look at each other with clear eyes. Aziraphale smacks his lips together and winces, then stands up and starts brushing dust off his tunic; Crowley does the same, sneaking glances at Aziraphale.

When he's done, Aziraphale hesitates and then extends a hand. "Well. Until the next time, then? I suppose we'll be seeing rather more of each other now."

"Expect we will," Crowley says. "Nice seeing you, angel." He shakes Aziraphale's hand, and Aziraphale nods and leaves, and then Crowley is forced to sit back down on the bench, head in his hands, wondering just how far he would have gone.

*

The next time Crowley catches him with a human, it's the fourteenth century, and everything is Crowley's fault.

"You didn't _actually_ have to fuck him," Crowley snarls. "What am I supposed to write in my report, hmm? Downstairs knows I don't do—_that_."

They're in Aziraphale's rented rooms, and the scent of sex is still in the air. Aziraphale is still fussing with his kirtle. "I just thought—if I could convince him—"

Crowley groans. "Tempting isn't about convincing," he says, not for the first time. Aziraphale took well enough to their arrangement in theory, but he's got it all wrong in practice. "Ideally, you want everything to be their idea. You know, free will?"

"Going to bed together _was_ his idea," Aziraphale says. A stubborn set is taking over his face. "I had no objections. Look, just leave that part out. You don't do the paperwork half the time, anyway."

"How do you know—you know what, never mind." Crowley begins pacing the room. He's just gotten a commendation (unearned, thanks) for the plague sweeping the country, and the streets are full of death, and he can't deal with this on top of everything else. "Did it work, at least, or do I have to do everything myself?"

He regrets his tone immediately when he looks back at Aziraphale's face, hurt but trying to hide it under a lifted chin and mulish expression.

"Yes, Crowley," Aziraphale says. "I suggested to him that he do what you said, and he agreed that it would be for the best. Although what your side is playing at, at a time like this...."

"It doesn't matter," Crowley says, because it doesn't, not really. Crowley doesn't even remember the man's name, and he highly doubts Aziraphale does. It's not about him—it's about taking pride in the work, and about not looking bad while Hell has their eyes on him. "Did you cure him?"

This is the real reason he asked Aziraphale to take this one. He's better at close up work, and he's better at healing, when he thinks to do it. Aziraphale nods. "Of course. You may not approve of all of my methods, but I do follow through."

"Well. That's all right, then." Crowley, grudgingly, stops pacing, directly in front of Aziraphale. "Did you like it?"

"What?" Aziraphale asks, clearly playing dumb.

"Sleeping with him. Did you _like_ it."

Aziraphale hesitates, and Crowley hates that, and he hates that he hates it. "He was perfectly fine. Not someone I would have necessarily chosen, but it's good to experiment once in a while, and needs must, you know."

He won't look at Crowley when he says the last thing. Crowley doesn't think—he reaches out and cups Aziraphale's jaw. Aziraphale lets out a little gasp as his breath catches and their eyes meet.

"I _don't_ know," Crowley says. "What's more, I know it's none of my business, but bless it, Aziraphale, you don't have to do that on my account. Not if you don't want to."

"I didn't say I didn't want to," Aziraphale says. "Just—oh, you don't understand."

Crowley shakes his head. "No. I don't. And I don't think you want me to."

That's not true, and Crowley knows it. He knows Aziraphale knows it, too. Aziraphale just looks at him, then pushes past him and leaves. Crowley is left alone again, in a room Aziraphale's renting, where apparently Aziraphale will sleep with anyone who isn't him.

*

The last time Crowley witnesses Aziraphale with a human in the afterglow, it's the 1970s. Only, Aziraphale doesn't look like someone who's recently been in the throes of passion; he looks worried and pale, even as he sends the angel-blessed, somewhat rumpled young man home with a smile and a kiss to his cheek.

Crowley only happened to see them when he turned the corner to the bookshop, and he keeps the Bentley well away until the man is gone. Aziraphale spots him anyway, of course.

"Crowley," Aziraphale greets him when Crowley parks and gets out of the car.

"Angel," Crowley says in the same cordial tone. "How's business?"

"The same, of course," Aziraphale says. "Both here and Above. There's a bit of trouble going around, though."

Crowley nods. "I know. Can we go inside, or do you still have company?"

Aziraphale gives him a look that could be judgmental or could just be Aziraphale's face. "Terribly sorry, come in." Aziraphale holds the door open for him, and Crowley steps inside.

The bookshop, Crowley's always thought, shows a mastery of craftsmanship. There are books stacked everywhere in tall, precarious piles that know better than to fall over, a labyrinth of bookshelves, and a musty, damp smell that clears the moment Aziraphale flips the sign to closed. It would be easy to get overwhelmed in here, if one was a human, and then be put off from browsing with any intent—exactly the kind of bastardry Crowley expects from Aziraphale.

They go into the back room, and Crowley says, "Attended any parades lately? Protests?"

Aziraphale shakes his head. "No, but I live in Soho, Crowley. I've been in some of their homes. That poor young man who was here today...."

"What's wrong with him?" Crowley asks.

"His friend was killed not long ago. He needed solace and connection, that's all." Aziraphale pauses. "You know that's all I've ever tried to do, with that."

"I know," Crowley says, and wretchedly, he does.

They look at each other for a long moment, and then Crowley says, "Something's coming. Something _big_."

"You mean like—"

Crowley shrugs. "Don't know what, but there's been rumblings Downstairs. Things are afoot, that's all I know."

"I've heard a few whispers myself, but I didn't pay it any mind," Aziraphale says. "Do you think—"

"I think we might need all the solace we can get, soon enough," Crowley says, and immediately curses himself for the choice of words.

"Crowley...." A complicated expression crosses Aziraphale's face, and he leans in, so close they're sharing breath, asking Crowley's permission without words. After a moment in which they just sit there, staring at each other, Crowley reluctantly pulls back.

"Not yet," he says. "Please, Aziraphale."

"But someday, my dear? You'll let me?"

The look on Aziraphale's face is impossibly, unmistakably tender. It's a little blinding. Crowley grimaces.

"Let's get through the next decade first," he says.

*

When the world doesn't end, it takes a few days, but Crowley eventually comes back to the bookshop.

He saw it from the outside when he dropped Aziraphale off after their lunch at the Ritz. It's another thing, though, to step inside and smell the familiar scent of ozone and paper instead of smoke and charred wood, to feel the weight of Aziraphale's power protecting the place.

Not burned down. Not discorporated. Safe, and alive, and whole.

He finds Aziraphale sitting in the back room, just sitting, and has the strangest sense that Aziraphale was waiting for him. Maybe he was. "Hello, my dear."

"Aziraphale," Crowley says. It comes out desperate and longing. That's fine; Crowley's finally figured out what he wants.

"Come here," Aziraphale says. Crowley crosses the room and stands in front of him. "Oh, my love."

Aziraphale rises from his chair and cups Crowley's jaw with one hand. They're nearly of a height, and their foreheads brush as Aziraphale leans in.

"May I?" he asks.

Crowley draws in a shaky breath. "Yes. Please."

And finally, finally, Crowley submits to his desires and lets Aziraphale kiss him, lets Aziraphale love him, until he's dizzy with it. Their mouths slide and press together for long minutes, and Crowley focuses on the shape of Aziraphale's lips under his, the taste of his mouth, the way his arms feel when they wrap around Crowley's body.

Eventually, their kisses slow, and they pull away from each other but not apart. Against Aziraphale's lips, Crowley murmurs, "You're really good at that."

One side of Aziraphale's mouth quirks up. "Hmmm. Lots of practice."

"About that," Crowley says. "I don't want to wait anymore." It comes out in a rush.

"Oh, do you want to?" Aziraphale's smile lights up the space between them. "Crowley, I would be honored."

Crowley kisses him again, soft. "Take me to bed. Show me what I've been missing."

Aziraphale takes his hand, then, and leads him up the stairs. He's never had cause to go into Aziraphale's bedroom before, but he's not surprised at all by the wrought iron bed frame, tartan duvet cover, or feather pillows.

"Sit down, please," Aziraphale says in a quiet, sure voice. "No, don't get undressed," he adds when Crowley moves to take off his jacket. "Let me."

So Crowley sits on the bed, and he's rewarded by Aziraphale fairly climbing into his lap and pushing his jacket off his shoulders as their lips meet. It's quickly followed by his tie and shirt, but he pushes Aziraphale back when he starts working on the belt.

"No, hang on. I want to see you, too." He reaches up and undoes Aziraphale's bow tie for emphasis. Somehow, just that, Aziraphale sitting disheveled and halfway on top of him, is enough to rev him up all over again.

"Fair's fair," Aziraphale agrees, and that's all the permission Crowley needs to strip him of his tie, jumper, shirt, and undershirt.

They continue kissing and divesting each other of their clothes until both of them are naked. Aziraphale sits back on his haunches, which means Crowley is free to admire him, all curves and glowing skin and a lovely, fat cock between his thighs. He's wanted Aziraphale for so _long_, without even knowing it. It's a little overwhelming.

When he meets Aziraphale's eyes again, he realizes that Aziraphale's been checking him out at the same time, and he blushes. "How should we—you know."

Aziraphale makes a considering noise. "What do you want?"

"Everything," Crowley says. "I don't know. _You're_ the expert here."

He feels very vulnerable and a bit silly, just sitting there naked, waiting for Aziraphale to give him direction. He aches to touch him, and then he remembers he can and reaches out to squeeze Aziraphale's hip.

Aziraphale laughs, sounding delighted. "Of course, my darling, you can touch all you want. Lie back."

Crowley does, settling himself against the oversized pillows, and Aziraphale lies down on top of him. Their cocks brush together as Aziraphale's hips slot in, making Crowley gasp at the brand new sensation. He's done the whole self-pleasure thing, but this is something else.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale says. "You feel so good. I'm so glad we finally got here."

Crowley doesn't have words for that, so he just lets his hands roam over Aziraphale's back, arms, hips, and, tentatively, his cock. Aziraphale's eyes flutter shut as he does, so Crowley wraps his hand around it. "Yeah?"

"You're doing wonderfully," Aziraphale assures him. "Just like that—a little harder, please—oh, yes." He opens his eyes. "Crowley, if you're amenable—I should very much like to make love to you."

"Ngk," says Crowley. "Angel, I—"

"We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with, of course," Aziraphale says. 

Crowley shakes his head. "No, I want to. But you'll have to show me the ropes." He pauses. "Not literally. Although, that's an idea."

Aziraphale smiles and reaches down to stroke Crowley's cheek. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Here, let me prop you up." He fusses with the pillows as he talks, grabbing one and tucking it under Crowley's hips. "I want to kiss you during, and it's easier on your body this way."

"Angel, you can't just say things like that," Crowley groans. The whole thing is starting to be a lot to handle, and he has to fight the urge to cover his face. "Give a guy some warning."

The smirk on Aziraphale's face is Crowley's favorite variant yet. "Get used to it."

Crowley hopes, very much, that he will have the chance to get used to it. He never thought about what it would really be like, being intimate with Aziraphale. This playful, take charge side is better than anything he could have come up with.

When Aziraphale touches his lubed-up finger to Crowley's hole, though, he jerks backwards and almost calls the whole thing off.

"Shhh, my dear," Aziraphale says. "Let it happen." Crowley looks at him, nods, and breathes through his nose as Aziraphale gets him back in position. "Oh, your face. It's not so bad as all that, really. You might even like it."

In response, Crowley pulls a more dramatic face. "Do you? Like it."

It's a much different tone than the last time he asked a question like that, and Aziraphale gives him a much more satisfactory answer. "I do," he says. "It's always a little awkward at first, but that's part of it, I think. It works best if you can relax and take it, like—yes, that's it."

While Aziraphale was talking, Crowley forgot to pay attention to what his hand was doing, but all of his attention is drawn back there when Aziraphale suddenly breaches him with two fingers. "Okay. Yeah. Keep doing that."

The angel's smile is far too smug for his own good. "Give me just a tic—there." He brushes his fingers across something Crowley hasn't known he had in all six thousand years on Earth. Crowley nearly jerks off the bed with the sensation. Aziraphale smiles wider. "Beautiful."

Crowley wants to quip back, but he's too focused on the slide of Aziraphale's fingers inside of him, stroking his prostate so relentlessly that he starts to see stars. He grips the bed sheet under him with one hand and reaches out for Aziraphale with the other, petting any skin he can reach.

"You're ready for me, I think." Aziraphale removes his fingers. Crowley has just a moment to feel empty in a way he never has before, until Aziraphale is moving to line up his cock. "Can I? Do you still want to?"

"Yes," Crowley manages. "Please, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale grips Crowley's hips, adjusting the angle. Crowley opens his mouth to tell him to get on with it, but then the head of Aziraphale's cock is nudging at his hole, and then Aziraphale is sliding inside him, and it's all Crowley can do to hold on.

When he gets it together long enough to look at Aziraphale's face, he looks broken open, a mirror of how Crowley feels. "It's never felt like this," Aziraphale says, wonder in his voice. "Are you all right? Can I move?"

Crowley nods, shakily, and Aziraphale begins to fuck him, slowly at first and then in earnest. Their mouths crash together as he does; just that simple, secondary point of contact amplifies everything, and waves of sensation travel through Crowley's body, from their joined mouths to his cock, bumping against Aziraphale's stomach on every thrust.

"Angel," he groans. "I need—"

"I have you," Aziraphale promises. Good as his word, he reaches between them and strokes Crowley's cock. That completely does it for Crowley—he tips over into a blinding orgasm just from Aziraphale's hand on him, from knowing _Aziraphale's_ the one making him feel this good. Aziraphale follows shortly after, reaching his peak with a loud moan and a hot spill inside Crowley's body that probably shouldn't turn him on as much as it does.

When Crowley opens his eyes, he's surrounded by feathers. He reaches up to touch Aziraphale's wing. "So, does that happen often?"

Aziraphale covers his face. "Never. Not sure how I'd explain it if it did."

"Huh," Crowley says. "Well, I like it. And I also want to do that again, just as soon as I nap."

"That works for me, as I'm not letting you go now that I've got you," Aziraphale informs him. He's quiet while he pulls out and resettles himself against Crowley's side, miracling away the mess on the way—there's an aspect of it Crowley could live without, but it's worth it for all the rest. Then he says, almost casually, "You know, I've never really made love before. Not like that. Not where it mattered to me."

The only thing Crowley can do with a proclamation like that is to pull Aziraphale snug against him, wings and all, and kiss him soundly on the lips. He lets his own wings out, too, so that they're buried in a cocoon of feathers.

"I don't think I would find the other satisfactory, after this," Aziraphale continues. "And as I've said, we're not getting out of this bed until we've had our way with each other again, and perhaps again after that."

Crowley yawns and presses his face into the warmth of Aziraphale's bare chest. "Yes, I want to be exclusive. No more people. You'll have to bless them some other way."

"That's what I thought," Aziraphale says with some satisfaction. Crowley just grins, tangling his feet with Aziraphale's and trying to remember if he's ever felt so at peace.

(Is this how the humans always felt? he thinks as he drifts off. No _wonder_ they were so drawn to Aziraphale.)


End file.
